Shadows
by morganagain
Summary: Follows The Greater Good. Shannon tries find peace after Boone's death.


_**Disclaimer:** All people, places, and things Lost are copyright JJ Abrams, David Lindelof, and the ABC Network. This fanfiction is for entertainment only, and I seek neither credit for nor profit from the characters and plot of the television series._

_**A/N:** Some dialogue was taken directly from the episode, Born to Run. As always, Thanks to Mrstater for her time, energy, and enthusiasm._

**Shadows**

Darkness crept over the camp as Shannon stared at the fire in front of her. In spite of the cool ocean breeze and the heat from the flames, she felt neither hot nor cold. She just felt numb, senses dulled, immune to everything but the ache that had settled into the pit of her stomach.

Her mind worked its way slowly over and over again, fixated on the last twenty-four hours. Who knew so much could happen in such a short amount of time? Who knew so many emotions could play out over just one day? That a night of laughter and joy and promise could give way to a morning of heartbreak? That one night that gave her hope for her future, could end in the death of the only tangible connection she had to her past.

Dead. Boone was dead. As often as the words played in her mind, the stark reality of it seemed out of reach somehow. At the funeral earlier, Jack had wanted her to say something, some words. Words. What was there to say? That she and Boone were a fucked up family? That they were so fucked up they couldn't even get the brother/sister thing right? Or that on the night he died, the night he lay in pain and anguish, she had felt happier and more content than she had felt in years?

Instead, she bit her tongue and faded out, stunned, barely hearing the words Sayid struggled to say on her behalf.

Then she watched them put her brother into the ground.

Shannon's breath hitched as her reflections traveled further, back to her own father's funeral. Much different than Boone's, of course, but still the same; it still put someone she loved into the earth, as if now that they had ceased to breathe they were nothing.

And, once again, with yet another death, her own identity changed. No longer a sister, as she had become no longer a daughter years before. So who was she now? Alone, that was certain. Just a long-legged, asthmatic blonde stuck on an island that was less like paradise and more like some fucked up Bosch painting.

A log settled, sending sparks into the air and bringing her focus back into the present. She knew his eyes were trained on her, staring, pleading. Warm brown eyes, so deep that the night before she'd felt she would lose herself in them. Silently Shannon drew her legs toward her chest and folded her arms around them as she inhaled deeply. She could still smell his scent on her clothes. The earthy, masculine scent that wrapped around her like a blanket, that had made her feel so safe the night before as she slept in his arms and dreamed of what their future might hold.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered now. Sayid had betrayed her, and Boone was dead, and now here she was, stuck on Craphole Island with the man who had murdered her brother, the man she had been too inept to kill or have killed.

Shannon shivered as the breeze off the water finally found its way through to her, bringing a chill that seemed to find its way into her bones. As she drew her arms tighter around her, she realized she no longer felt Sayid's eyes on her; no longer felt his intense gaze, the longing that she knew was there even as she ignored him. Good.

Shannon yawned, suddenly conscious of just how exhausted she was. Not just from the lack of sleep the night before, when she and Sayid had stayed up half the night talking, but also from the sheer emotional toll the day had taken. Too weary to head to her shelter, she simply lay where she was on the beach. She curled herself up as tightly as she could and let sleep claim her.

"Shannon!"

Gasping for breath, Shannon awoke with a start, Sayid's plea still echoing in her ears. A dream. Just a dream. A nightmare, really, her sleeping mind's way of re-living recent events. Only this time instead of Sayid tackling her, in her dream she had actually shot John Locke. She had pulled the trigger, watched as blood ripped out of the old man's body.

Shannon's eyes focused on the burning logs in front of her as she shakily rubbed her hands together and desperately tried to quell the residual emotion from her dream. It had seemed so real, so very real. She could still feel the cold steel of the gun, the resistance as she pulled the trigger, the recoil as the bullet shot out of the barrel and found its way into a softer home. This was how it was supposed to have gone. This was what would have made her feel better, made things right. Only instead, she was haunted by the fact that the emotions that played in her dream had been anything but relief. Her horror, her grief, seemed to multiply. The only thing that stayed the same was Sayid's cry, his plea, his anguished calling of her name.

"You okay?" Sawyer's voice was unusually soft and contained a slight rasp to it, as if from overuse.

Shannon ignored him and continued to stare at the fire. She barely noticed the smoke stinging her eyes. Rather than the heat of dark brown eyes that had become so familiar to her, she felt Sawyer's cool blue eyes studying her.

"What do you want, Sawyer," she asked, dully.

"Hey, I'm just sittin' here minding my own business."

A lone ember flew off and she winced as it hit her arm. Shannon instinctively moved back, away from the flames. The chill she had felt earlier was back, the cold sand and dark night air seemed to sap any heat her body had retained. She shook as she curled herself up again, until she suddenly felt warm arms wrap around her. Instead of flinching, she simply looked up at Sawyer, surprised at the sudden contact.

"Its okay, just sleep," he ordered quietly. "Just sleep."

Shannon stared at him for another moment before allowing herself to settle into him, to sink against his body and permit herself to become enveloped by his warmth.

When Shannon awoke again it was daylight and she was alone. Gingerly she sat up and looked around. The camp was alive, everyone going about their business like nothing had changed. Did it even matter to any of them that Boone had died? Was she really the only one who even cared? Who even noticed?

She glanced toward the raft where a number of people had stopped working to listen to Arzt. She couldn't hear what he was shouting about, but knowing him he was probably making an ass out of himself as usual. Idiot. But they all seemed to listen, and before long the movement around the raft increased. Even Sawyer made himself useful. Whatever. Shannon stood, stretched and willed the stiffness out of her limbs. She shrugged off the blanket that somebody, probably Sawyer, had used to cover her.

Unlike the night before, there was no cool breeze off the ocean now; there was just the sweltering, sticky heat that seemed to pervade their lives on the island. Other than to grab some water, Shannon kept to herself, happy that the others left her in peace. She stared at the waves, lost herself in her own thoughts once again, the world blocked out. She was good at that, at losing herself for a while, ignoring all that went on around her. Although she could not help but notice that Sayid had not been at the beach all day.

As the day wore on and the sun grew hotter, Shannon shifted in her spot uncomfortably. Sand stuck to her and she brushed at it, irritated, as she rose to her feet. She noticed yet another commotion at the raft. Unable to resist, the blonde turned and made her way over. Sawyer was in the middle of it, shouting and gripping Kate's arm.

Suddenly Sawyer grabbed Kate's pack and dumped it onto the sand. "You all remember Joanna, don't you? Huh? The woman who drowned?" He grabbed something that had fallen out and held it out to Michael. "Now what's Kate doing with poor Joanna's ID? Could it be she'd do just about anything to get on that raft? So she could get herself rescued, run off with a new identity before half the reporters in the world descend on this damn island? She might even poison the captain himself."

Shannon watched, stunned, as Kate yelled at Sawyer to shut up.

"She don't care about nothin' or nobody but herself," he countered.

Kate pleaded, staring at Michael, but shouting to everyone. "Yes. I was on the plane with the Marshal. Yes, I was wanted and caught and being transported back. No matter what I say about what happened - about what I supposedly did - I'm going to jail. But I didn't poison you."

Shannon stared at Kate in disbelief. Whatever she had done had to be serious for a Marshal to be involved. She angrily glared at the brunette. What the hell was wrong with the people on this island? When they first crashed she thought the monster was what was to be feared, or even the god-damned polar bear. But apparently what really was to be feared were the people. Locke killed her brother, Kate poisoned Michael, or at least that was what Sawyer had said. Who knew what else she had done, or what any of the rest of them did or were capable of doing.

And Sayid and Jack had freaked out when she wanted to avenge her brother? Please. From what she could tell, hers was the most normal action on this island. Shannon smirked. Kate had been with them, pleading with her to let Locke live. Little Miss Innocent.

With a sharp backwards glance, Shannon headed back to her spot on the beach a few yards down.

As night settled over the camp, Shannon found herself back at the fire, arms folded around her legs as she had done the night before. She watched as people drifted off to their shelters, exhausted from the day's labors. She was alone at last when she saw Sawyer come from further down the beach and angrily head into his shelter.

Hoping to find again the comfort she had found the night before, she slowly rose, made her way over and raised the flap of his makeshift tent.

"What do you want?" he asked, barely glancing up at her from where he lay.

Silently she crawled in and rested her head against his chest. As she curled into him, she stretched her arm across his stomach and smiled briefly as she felt his arm wrap around her shoulders.

"Sawyer?" Shannon asked.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "About Kate. I'm sorry."

"It ain't nothin' Sticks, it ain't nothin'. Now just go to sleep."

This time, however, sleep didn't just come. Shannon listened to Sawyer's breathing even out as he drifted off and she groaned in frustration, willing sleep to come as easily for her. Quietly she shifted onto her side, and rested her head in the crook of her arm. Sawyer instinctively shifted with her, pulling her tighter against him as he moved. There was nothing particularly sexual about their embrace, but there was a comfort there that both of them needed.

Shannon felt herself sink further into his arms, reveling in their warmth even though the night was hot and sticky. She watched shadows edge across the tent wall as the fires outside cast their light against it. Even on this breezeless night, the flickering of the flames caused the shadows to move and sway, take shape then morph into one another. It was hypnotic, reminiscent of a summer day in childhood, sprawled out on the lawn, watching clouds pass.

Intrigued, the blonde watched for what seemed like hours as each shape took on a life of its own. First one thing, then merged into another. A tree became a fish, which became a river. Then the river became a plane, a plane that moved its way across the tarp then broke into a thousand pieces.

Frightened, she retreated deeper into Sawyer's arms, but the comfort she sought was no longer there. The images she saw came fast and furious now. Herself, standing in the rain, a gun aimed at Locke. The trigger pulled, the recoil kicked her hand back. Locke's blood.

"Shannon!"

Gasping, she sat up, the echo of Sayid's cry once again rang in her ears.

"A dream," she whispered. "Just a dream."

Extracting herself from Sawyer's arms, she crept out of the tent. It was still dark, the stars bright in the near-black sky. As she made her way down the beach through the sleeping camp, her body trembled as her dream played over in her conscious mind. Like it had seemed the night before, the dream again had felt so real. She could still feel the metal of the gun, could hear the crack of the shot. But it was the sight of Locke's blood, sticky and red, that hit her hardest. None of it was real, but still a wave of nausea came over her, and she stumbled as she made her way toward the edge of the camp.

Finally, Shannon found a spot to herself, away from the others. She sunk down onto the sand and softly began to cry. Sayid had been right. He had been right to stop her from killing Locke. It wouldn't have brought Boone back. It wouldn't have changed anything. Only, perhaps, make her dreams even more vivid, more frightening - and make her reality unbearable.

Shannon gazed off to her left, where Sayid's shelter stood. More than anything she would have liked to go there now. She would like to lie in his arms, feel his warmth, the comfort she knew she could only find there, with him.

But she wasn't quite ready for that, not yet. Maybe tomorrow: there was still too much she needed to sort out, still too much grief she needed to come to terms with on her own.

What was it Scarlett O'Hara said? "Tomorrow is another day?" Shannon smiled as she recalled the cheesy movie she and Boone watched on TV long ago. That was it. Tomorrow is another day.

Shannon quickly wiped her hands across her eyes and made her way to her own shelter for the first time in days. Tomorrow, she breathed as she settled onto her makeshift bed. Maybe tomorrow.

While her sadness lingered, there was a sense of peace when she finally fell asleep.


End file.
